


beneath the black snow

by dragonbagel



Series: gimme shelter [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (well sokka does), Angst, Episode: s03e16 The Southern Raiders, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e14-15 The Boiling Rock, The Gaang Learns How Zuko Got The Scar (Avatar), Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonbagel/pseuds/dragonbagel
Summary: Sokka had hoped, after staging an elaborate escape from a maximum-security prison and admitting his feelings for his former enemy, that he would get at least a day of peace and quiet before shit went sideways.Instead, he wakes up to the ceiling collapsing around him.or: a budding relationship, teenage angst, and the southern raiders
Relationships: Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Past Sokka/Suki, Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka & The Gaang (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: gimme shelter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867984
Comments: 50
Kudos: 726





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day, Sokka thinks, he’ll be able to catch a fucking break.
> 
> or: a certain sister attacks the air temple

Maybe one day, Sokka thinks, he’ll be able to catch a fucking break.

He’d hoped, after staging an elaborate escape from a maximum-security prison and admitting his feelings for his former enemy, that he would get at least a day (La, just _one fucking day)_ of peace and quiet before shit went sideways.

Instead, he wakes up to the ceiling collapsing around him.

He’s half-convinced it’s a nightmare, at first. But then Aang is whizzing past him on his glider and his dad is yelling and there’s a fucking _bomb_ slamming into the Air Temple’s outer wall.

“What’s going on?” he asks, barely managing to avoid tripping on the blankets bunched around his legs as he stands.

He almost topples again when he sees three massive Fire Nation airships launching another wave of explosives straight towards them.

“Incoming!” Aang shouts as he lands, throwing his arms up and sending a gust of air towards the giant metal doors surrounding their campsite.

The squeaking of their hinges as they slam shut—not to mention the continuous barrage of bombs—is enough to shock the rest of their motley crew into action.

“Get a move on, everyone!” Dad orders, hurrying to help the younger members of the group catch their bearings. “This whole place is coming down!”

The walls tremble and groan as if to prove his point, shaking with a renowned vigor that sends debris tumbling from above.

Sokka realizes, far too late, that a crumbling patch of ceiling is about to crush his sister where she stands.

“Katara!”

The word has barely left his mouth, the rocks only just beginning to rain down from above, before Zuko is diving towards Katara and shoving her out of harm’s way with an aborted “Watch out!”

They land on the ground a few feet away, rolling over one another in a tangle of dust-covered limbs and pained grunts.

Sokka is so utterly relieved that Katara isn’t dead that he forgets, for a moment, that he lives in a world where his sister hates her savior’s guts.

“What are you _doing?”_ she snaps.

Zuko, who landed on top of Katara in the tussle, manages to stay surprisingly calm when he answers. “Keeping rocks from crushing you.”

“Okay, I’m not crushed,” Katara huffs. “You can get off me now!”

She jabs her elbow back into Zuko’s chest and wriggles out from beneath him before stomping away without another word.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Zuko says, sighing as he stands.

Sokka can’t help but stare as Zuko runs a hand through his hair; it’s unfair, really, how attractive he is, even disheveled and sporting a bad case of bedhead.

“Come on!” Toph says as another bomb shakes the temple’s foundations. “We can get out through here!”

She points to a tunnel that she and Haru must have earthbent while Sokka was preoccupied mooning over Zuko and his stupidly gorgeous hair. Sokka quickly jogs over to her, chastising his brain and its godforsaken fantasies all the while (because now is _not the time, get a hold of yourself.)_

The group congregated by the exit, Sokka soon discovers, is missing two key members. He spots Aang attempting to drag Appa towards them by his reins, the bison digging his feet into the ground like a petulant child. (He remembers Appa’s fear in the secret tunnel to Omashu, and, considering the infuriating song now taking root like a parasite in his mind, he doesn’t blame the animal for his hesitancy.)

The other absent teammate, much to the chagrin of Sokka’s ever-mounting anxiety, is Zuko.

“What are you doing?” he shouts.

Zuko, who had been facing away from the tunnel, looks over his shoulder at Sokka. “Go ahead! I’ll hold them off.”

He turns back to the airships approaching them. “I think this is a family visit.”

He’s off before anyone can protest, sprinting through the doors and towards his certain death.

By the time Sokka’s brain catches up to his body, he’s halfway across the campsite himself, chasing after the flash of red fabric disappearing around the corner. 

“Zuko!” he calls, urging his legs to move _faster, come on, dammit._

He nearly slams into Zuko (and sends them tumbling into the canyon below) where he’s frozen at the edge of the temple.

“What are you doing here?” Zuko hisses.

“I could ask you the same thing!”

“ _I_ ,” Zuko says, gesturing to the airships looming ever closer, “am trying to save all your asses!”

“By getting yourself _killed_?”

Zuko looks ready to retort, but doesn’t get the chance—the whirring of gears echoing around them is practically deafening.

The noise appears to be coming from a strange platform rising out of the top of one of the airships; and on it, with what Sokka can only assume to be her signature, maniacal grin, is Azula.

“What are you doing here?” Though it’s the same question he posed to Sokka mere seconds ago, the hardness of Zuko’s voice is no longer one of protectiveness.

“You mean it’s not obvious yet?” Azula asks smugly. “I’m about to celebrate becoming an only child!”

She punctuates her words with a blast of fire, and Sokka barely has time to process that he may be meeting his maker before Zuko tackles him out of the way. It knocks the wind out of his lungs, and he tastes the ghost of flames in the air.

“You need to get out of here!” Zuko says, hauling Sokka to his feet and planting himself in front of him.

“I’m not leaving you here!” 

The Sokka of just a few weeks ago would laugh at the mere notion of defending Zuko (even if he _did_ already have the tiniest smidgen of a crush). Now, the thought of leaving him behind—especially now that there’s this... _thing_ between them—is incomprehensible.

“Please,” Zuko says hoarsely. “I can handle this!”

He blocks Azula’s next attack with a grunt of exertion.

“I—“ Sokka closes his mouth. Opens it. Closes it again. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if something happens to Zuko, the guilt will eat him alive. But he also knows that Zuko is fully on the defense right now, because Sokka himself is powerless against Azula’s flames.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Just—don’t die, okay?”

He grabs Zuko’s sleeve before he can think better of it, pulling him in for a rough kiss that he hopes conveys _“if you die, I’ll kill you myself.”_

Zuko’s eyes are wide when Sokka pulls away. (At least, his right eye is; the left is still stuck in its permanent scowl.)

“Yeah,” Zuko says, swallowing thickly. “I’ll, uh, try not to do that.”

With that stilted response that _still_ leaves Sokka’s mouth dry, Zuko sends a wave of fire towards his sister and jumps towards her airship.

Sokka turns away; if he looks, he’s definitely going to be sick. _Zuko’s fine_ , he assures himself as he scurries back towards the others. _Everything’s fine._

Everything is, in fact, very much _not fine._ Aang, now with the help of Katara and Suki, is still trying to wrangle Appa into the tunnel.

“I can’t get him to go in there!” Aang says with another failed tug.

“There’s no way we can all fly out of here,” Katara replies, glancing nervously at the group huddled in the tunnel’s entryway.

She catches sight of Sokka when she looks back. 

“What in La’s name were you _thinking_?” she yells, fists clenching around the reins she’s holding.

“I couldn’t let him run off by himself!” Sokka says.

“Why the hell not?”

Aang, still trying to tug Appa forward, looks nervously between the two siblings; Suki, on the other hand, smirks at Sokka with a sly glint in her eyes.

“He’s part of the team,” Sokka finally replies. “And—and Aang needs him to learn firebending!”

He cringes at the shoddy excuse; luckily, Suki swoops in to spare him from Katara’s withering glare.

“We need to split up,” she says.

She turns to the tunnel, directing her next words at his dad. “Take the kids and get to the stolen airship.”

“No!” Katara cries, hurrying to their father’s side. “The Fire Nation can’t separate our family again!”

Though the thought of leaving his dad behind sends a similar pang of sadness through his heart, Sokka knows there’s no other option.

“It’ll be okay,” Dad says, wrapping Katara in a hug. “It’s not forever.”

Katara sniffles as she squeezes him, and when she pulls back to return to Aang’s side, Sokka can see tears streaming down her cheeks. He forces back the wetness brimming in his own eyes as he throws his arms around his dad, relishing in the feeling of warmth, of love and support, that blooms in his chest. He holds onto the feeling as he forces himself to let go. 

_I’ll see you again,_ he thinks as Haru leads their splinter group through the tunnel. _I promise._

“Alright, people, let’s go!” Toph says, her hand splayed on one of the temple’s deteriorating walls. “I can clear that away and we can fly out through there!”

“Um,” Suki says, eyeing the half-collapsed stones, “there’s an awful lot of fire in that general direction…”

She’s right: brilliant flashes of blue and orange clash against the expanses of exposed sky in a dangerous dance, and Sokka reassures himself that seeing Zuko’s flames at least means he’s alive.

“We don’t have a choice,” Sokka says as he climbs onto Appa’s saddle. (He hopes Katara will interpret his steadfastness as an escape strategy rather than a desperate attempt to rescue Zuko from harm’s way.)

The blast of another bomb into the side of the rapidly crumbling air temple spurs the rest of the group to join him on Appa’s back. Toph links her arm with Sokka’s at Aang’s call of “yip, yip,” maintaining enough mobility in her hands to rip apart a hole for them to escape through. Sokka cheers; he doesn’t think he’ll _ever_ get over the sickness of the whole metal-bending thing.

With their exit in place, Toph raises her arms—clenching Sokka’s bicep incredibly tightly in the process—and summons a barrier of rocks around Appa’s head.

It may be sacrilegious to his tribe (not to mention his boomerang and awesome space sword), but if Sokka was to gain control of one of the elements, he definitely wants it to be earth.

Case and point: when a blast of blue flames comes hurtling their way, it bounces harmlessly off of their makeshift shield.

Sokka cheers—take _that,_ stupid princess—only for the sound to die in his throat as he spots Zuko leaping from one airship to another, landing on the raised podium by his sister.

Flames rage around them as they exchange blows, neither backing down. Azula sends a blast that misses Zuko by a mile; Sokka is confused for all of two seconds before he’s shoved out of the way by Katara, who sends a wave of water at the fire whip hurtling towards them.

Aang yanks on the reins to urge Appa to fly higher as Katara continues to deflect Azula’s attacks. Toph squeezes Sokka’s arm even tighter as the bison lurches upwards, her lack of sight leaving her as much of a sitting turtleduck as him and Suki.

Sokka is suddenly incredibly jealous of his companion’s blindness when the collision of the Zuko and Azula’s fiery punches knocks them both off the side of the airship.

“Zuko!” he screams, stomach rising into his throat as he watches him careen towards the abyss.

It’s like Boiling Rock all over again, Zuko jumping impossibly far towards the gondola; like staring at two ships on a collision course, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries.

Aang spurs Appa into a dive towards Zuko, who’s staring at the bison with wide eyes. And Sokka…well, Sokka refuses to let this be the end, because he knows the taste of Zuko’s lips and the heat of his body holding him close and he’ll be damned if he loses what has only just begun.

He pushes Toph towards Suki, hoping she has the sense to hang onto her as he leans over the edge of the saddle, arm outstretched.

A warm hand catches his, and despite the momentum now threatening to send him hurtling into the abyss himself, all he feels is an overwhelming sense of relief.

“I thought I told you,” he says, panting as he hauls Zuko onto the saddle, “not to die.”

“She’s,” Zuko gasps, crawling over to the side on shaky limbs, “not gonna make it.”

Sokka follows his gaze to Azula, who’s still falling, until— _Tui and La_ —she shoots a blast of fire from her feet, propelling herself towards the cliffside and digging her hair piece into the rocks to stop her descent.

Zuko sighs. “Of course she did.”

Though he mostly sounds annoyed, Sokka hears an undercurrent of relief. _She’s still his sister,_ Sokka thinks, glancing at his own sibling. _Even if she_ is _crazy._

As though reading his thoughts, Katara looks over at him, her eyes narrowing as she hones in on the way his hand is still intertwined with Zuko’s. 

Zuko is quick to retract his arm, coughing nervously as he scoots a few paces away. Sokka frowns, but doesn’t say anything; Zuko, now seated by Suki, keeps his gaze trained on his feet.

They ride the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

Zuko is quiet as they set up camp, seemingly avoiding everyone as he tends to the fire. He doesn’t contribute as the rest of the group chatters, wordlessly staring at his bowl when they settle down for dinner.

He feels Suki nudge him, jerking her head towards Zuko with a questioning furrow in her brows. Sokka shrugs helplessly, because he, too, would very much like to know what the hell is going on.

Zuko doesn’t look up as he mechanically eats a few bites of stew, even when Aang tries to break the heavy tension with a joke.

“Wow, camping,” he says, the grin on his face unbearably forced. “Really seems like old times again, doesn't it?”

“Sure,” Toph replies. “But the fire’s _way_ nicer now that Sparky’s here.”

She elbows Zuko, whose lips curl into a small smile before falling flat again. It hurts Sokka’s heart more than he cares to admit.

“To Zuko!” he says, raising his cup. “Who knew after all those times he tried to snuff us out, today he'd be our hero?”

“Hear, hear!” the rest of the group says, lifting their glasses as well.

Katara, however, says nothing, and her glower only hardens at the blush rising to Zuko’s cheeks.

“I’m touched,” he says, sending a whirl of contentment through Sokka’s chest before he speaks again. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Yeah,” Katara says bitterly, “no kidding.”

She slams her plate down before standing and stalking away with a huff of annoyance.

“What’s with her?” Sokka asks.

Sure, Katara could have a temper; but in all the years he’s known her, he’s never seen her this continously upset.

“I wish I knew,” Zuko mutters, setting his mostly untouched meal on the ground. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

Confronting Katara has _“bad idea”_ written all over it, but Zuko has disappeared after her before Sokka can dissuade him from heading towards certain doom.

They still aren’t back, even after everyone’s plates are scraped clean and the younger members of Team Avatar have settled into their bedrolls for the night. 

Suki looks ready to do the same, but Sokka catches her arm. “Can we talk?”

Suki nods, allowing him to lead her into his tent and sitting down beside him.

“So, that was weird, right?” he says as soon as they’re situated inside.

“You’re telling me.” Suki’s eyes shimmer in the lamplight as she rolls them. “What the hell is going on with the two of them?”

“I don’t know!” Sokka says, throwing his arms up. “Katara’s still mad at Zuko, even after all the times he’s saved our lives. I just don’t get why she can’t forgive him!”

“Maybe because she isn’t dating him,” Suki teases.

“Yeah, well,” Sokka mutters, looking away, “neither am I, apparently.”

“I thought you talked to him last night,” Suki says, frowning.

“I did! But then—well, you saw what happened on Appa.” Sokka groans and drops his head into his hands. “I just don’t get it! Is he embarrassed by me?”

Suki purses her lips as though deep in thought.

“Sokka,” she says slowly. “Do you know if Zuko’s...out?”

“What?”

“You know,” she prods. “Do people know he’s interested in men?”

It’s Sokka’s turn to stare in confusion. “Does it matter?”

“Does it—of _course_ it matters!”

“Why? People like who they like; it’s not a big deal.”

“Maybe not in the Water Tribe,” Suki says. “But in the rest of the world...”

She trails off, but Sokka gets the picture. It hits him like a stab in the gut.

Her next words only twist the dagger. “Sokka, some of the people in Boiling Rock were there on charges of sodomy.”

He doesn’t understand. The pieces of the puzzle are slotting together, but the picture they’re forming is incomprehensible.

“I don’t understand,” he says. (He does, though, and he knows it—he’s just clinging to some last hope that Suki will deny it.)

“Homosexuality,” Suki says, bitterness on her tongue at the disgustingly sharp syllables, “has been illegal in the Fire Nation since before Sozin’s time.”

It makes a sickening amount of sense, now, why Zuko shys away from his advances; why his words seem like they’re being forced through a wringer whenever he talks about Mai; and why he looked ready to grovel at Azula’s feet when she accused Sokka of being his boyfriend.

“Oh.” His voice sounds small, even to his own ears.

“Look,” Suki says, edging towards the flap of the tent, “I’m going to give you some time to think things over, but you should really talk to him tonight.”

“And say what?” Sokka asks.

Suki shrugs. “You’ll figure it out.”

She crawls out of the tent before Sokka can beg for more of her wisdom, of which he is clearly in extremely dire need.

He thinks, when the tarp over the entrance rustles again, that Suki has taken pity on his poor, tortured soul. Instead, he finds himself face to face with Zuko.

“Uh, hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, attempting not to stare too obviously as Zuko takes a seat beside him.

Their knees are practically touching, and even though it’s mainly due to the cramped quarters, it still sends Sokka’s heart rate skyrocketing.

“I saw Suki leaving your tent,” he says, glancing nervously at Sokka. “I hope I didn’t, um, _interrupt_ anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Sokka says, waving him off. “We were already done.”

It’s only at the furious flush rising on Zuko’s unscarred cheek that alerts Sokka to the actual implications of Zuko’s statements—implications that his omission of the word “ _talking”_ in his reply only heightened.

“Oh, wait, I didn’t mean like that—“

“It’s fine,” Zuko says in a tone that projects anything _but_ that sentiment.

“No, really,” Sokka assures. “We were just talking, I swear!”

Zuko frowns, a guarded confusion in his features.

“I’m serious,” Sokka continues. “We’re friends, we weren’t... _doing_ anything.”

“Right,” Zuko says, swallowing thickly.

The bob of his Adam’s apple is mesmerizing, and Sokka can’t tear his gaze away from the pale expanse of his throat.

“But us?” he says, inching closer to Zuko with the confidence imbued by his raging hormones. “We don’t have to just be friends.”

He lays a hand on Zuko’s thigh, feeling the warmth of the leg practically trembling beneath his palm.

“I think,” Zuko says, tentatively placing his fingers on top of Sokka’s, “I’d like that.”

It’s almost involuntary, the way he leans forward to kiss him. Like his body knows what it wants, what it _needs,_ before his brain even has a chance to keep up. Zuko’s lips are rough against his, insistent and _perfect_ , and Sokka would have zero complaints about doing this until the end of time.

Zuko kills that lofty dream when he pulls back moments later, stilling Sokka with a shaky hand as he tries to follow his mouth.

“I,” Zuko starts, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I, uh, actually had a question for you.”

“Is it ‘can we make out again’?” Sokka says cheekily. “Because the answer is yes.”

“No. Well, yes, that too, but—but something else, right now.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “So what’s on your mind?”

“Your sister,” Zuko says, scowling. “She’s always arguing with me!”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“She hates me,” he continues, “and I don’t know why I care, but I do, and I just want us to, I don’t know, get along?”

His statement turns into more of a desperate question as he speaks, and Sokka finds his hurt expression incredibly painful to look at.

“First of all, Katara doesn’t hate you,” he says. “I don’t think she _hates_ anyone, except maybe some people in the Fire Nation.”

He freezes as he realizes what he’s just said, scurrying to backtrack. “I mean, not people who are good, but used to be bad. I mean, like, bad people; Fire Nation people who are still bad and have never been good and probably won’t be, ever!”

“Okay, stop,” Zuko says, and Sokka’s never been more grateful to be interrupted in his life. “Listen. I know this may seem out of nowhere, but I want you to tell me what happened to your mother.”

Sokka’s brain short circuits. “What?”

Is this some sort of cruel joke? Some bizarre form of payback for the (wholly unfounded) claim that he and Suki had been hooking up?

Zuko must see the twisted anguish on his face, because he hurries to explain. “It’s just, Katara mentioned it before when we were imprisoned together in Ba Sing Se, and again tonight when she was yelling at me. I think somehow she's connected her anger at that to her anger at me.”

Sokka sighs; it makes sense, but his mother’s death isn’t exactly a memory he enjoys reliving.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Zuko says, resting his palm on Sokka’s knee and squeezing lightly. “I just don’t want there to be this _rift_ between us anymore, you know?”

“Being on Katara’s bad side sucks, huh?” Sokka says, trying for a smirk.

“Yeah,” Zuko says ruefully. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wasn’t trying to- to _manipulate_ her!”

Sokka’s knowledge of the catacombs is limited to Katara’s cries of grief over Aang’s small, lifeless body. He knows something happened, but...

“What _did_ you say to her,” Sokka asks, “back in Ba Sing Se?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Zuko may be keeping his expression carefully neutral, but he can’t hide the way his hands begin to shake with nerves.

Sokka shakes his head.

“Oh.” Zuko exhales sharply. “She, uh, told me that the Fire Nation took your mother.”

Zuko looks up with concern as a shudder runs through Sokka’s body, but he waves him on.

“I told her,” he says softly, “that the Fire Nation took mine, too.”

He takes a deep, choked-off breath before speaking again.

“Then she offered to heal my scar,” he says, “and I betrayed her.”

Sokka can’t help the way his eyes are immediately drawn to the left side of Zuko’s face, the angry patch of leathery, disfigured redness against his otherwise pale skin.

 _“My father gave me this,”_ he’d said yesterday, _“for speaking out of turn.”_

“Your scar…”

Zuko must see the question on the tip of Sokka’s tongue, because he curls further in on himself, angling his mottled skin away from him and beginning to inch towards the exit.

“Wait!” Sokka says, grabbing Zuko’s wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Zuko’s eyes are like molten amber as he stares at him, caught somewhere between suspicion and hopefulness.

“I’ll tell you about my mom,” Sokka says. “Just don’t leave. Please?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says quietly, settling down at Sokka’s side. “Okay.”

He takes a deep breath before beginning, trying to keep his voice from warbling too badly. “Katara and I were having a snowball fight.”

Sokka’s never told this story before, in so many words, but the chill of ice packed tightly in his small gloves seems like the right place to start.

“She was kicking my ass, of course.”

He smiles wryly, thinking of magical spheres of slush splashing onto him and his sister’s childish laughter. 

“But then the black snow started falling.”

 _Ash and soot, floating down from the heavens. A sick perversion of their element, flakes of holiness sticking to his eyelashes like an omen. The frantic crunch of the ice beneath his sister’s boots as she ran to their home,_ _leaving Sokka to stare at the sky._

“Many of the other warriors had seen it before,” he continues, “and they knew what it meant: a Fire Nation raid.”

He subconsciously runs his fingers over the edge of his boomerang, feeling the ghost of the path it took from his small hands towards the back of the soldiers’ heads. (He hadn’t managed to actually hit a firebender with it until Zuko had crashed onto the shore six years later.)

“We were badly outnumbered, but somehow, we managed to drive them off. As quickly as they came, they just left. I was so relieved when it was over, but that's because I didn't know yet what had happened.”

He hears the phantom echoes of Katara’s wails, of his father’s stifled cries as he covers the corpse inside their home.

“I didn't know we had lost our mother.”

It’s only when he stops to finally take a breath that he realizes he’s crying.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “Can I…?”

He holds his hand up hesitantly, waiting until Sokka gives a slightly confused nod to gently brush away the tears tracking down his cheeks. His fingertips leave trails of warmth buzzing on the surface of his skin, and Sokka feels a bone-deep sense of tenderness, an aching familiarity to the time he wiped Zuko’s tears just days before.

“This may seem weird,” Zuko says once he’s ridden Sokka’s face of tears, “but can you remember any details about the soldiers who raided your village? Like what the lead ship looked like?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says; when he blinks, he sees sickly black creatures curled in the center of blood-red fabric, billowing from metallic masts behind his eyelids. “The main ship had flags with sea ravens on them.”

“That’s the symbol of the Southern Raiders,” Zuko says. “Thanks, Sokka.”

He makes towards the edge of the tent again, and Sokka frowns. “What, that’s it?”

“There’s some, uh, stuff I need to figure out,” Zuko says, scratching the back of his neck.

His gaze meets Sokka’s for a moment before he darts in for a kiss, brief and chaste and over before Sokka even realizes it’s begun.

“Goodnight,” is all Zuko says as he slips away into the dark.

 _Stupid firebender,_ Sokka thinks with a scowl. 

But when his thoughts soon wander to the feeling of said stupid firebender’s lips, he decides now would be the perfect time to go to bed before he does something embarrassing (like dragging Zuko back into his tent and tasting more than just his mouth).

 _Sleep,_ he orders his brain. _You’re going to need it._

It’s a curse, really, how right he is all the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sokka thought that Zuko and Katara’s constant bickering was ridiculous, it has nothing on the sheer bizarreness of the two of them approaching the campfire side by side.
> 
> or: zuko and katara embark on their life-changing field trip. sokka is not a fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i ended up splitting this into 3 chapters bc this part got super long, we’ll see how this goes

If Sokka thought that Zuko and Katara’s constant bickering was ridiculous, it has _nothing_ on the sheer bizarreness of the two of them approaching the campfire side by side.

“I need to borrow Appa,” Katara says.

The bison looks up at his name, groaning softly until Zuko scratches behind his giant ear.

“Why?” Aang asks jokingly. “Is it your turn to take a little field trip with Zuko?”

Zuko and Katara exchange a glance.

“Yes,” she says, “it is.”

“Oh,” Aang says, confusion evident on his face. “What's going on?”

“We're going to find the man who took my mother from me.”

Katara’s words knock the air right out of Sokka’s lungs. He stumbles up to stand, the boomerang he’d been sharpening clattering to the ground. “What?”

Zuko looks at him for a moment, then averts his gaze back to Appa’s fur beneath his fingers. “Sokka told me the story of what happened to her. I know who did it and I know how to find him.”

“Um…” Aang says awkwardly, “and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?”

“Ugh,” Katara groans. “I knew you wouldn't understand.”

She turns to stalk away, but Aang’s cry of “wait!” stops her in her tracks.

“I do understand,” Aang says, grey eyes wide and pleading. “You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?”

Sokka shudders at the memories of Aang’s tattoos glowing violently bright, his anguished screams as he tore the world around them to shreds.

“She needs this, Aang,” Zuko says. “This is about getting closure and justice.”

“I don't think so,” Aang says carefully. “I think it's about getting revenge.”

For once, Sokka is inclined to agree with the pacifist.

“Fine, maybe it is!” Katara snaps. “Maybe that's what I need! Maybe that's what he deserves!”

“Katara,” Aang says, frowning, “you sound like Jet.”

Katara flinches at the name. (Zuko, oddly, does as well.)

“It's not the same!” Katara argues. “Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster.”

“Hey, she was my mother, too,” Sokka says, slipping back into his unofficial role of group mediator. “But I think Aang might be right.”

“Then you didn't love her the way I did!”

Katara’s words cut straight to his heart. His breath catches in his lungs, and tears sting unbidden in his eyes. He’s vaguely aware of Aang prattling off some proverb about revenge, but he’s too caught up in the conviction in his sister’s eyes to process it.

_“You didn’t love her the way I did.”_

Is she right? Did he take the years with his mother in his life for granted?

Zuko is arguing with Aang now, too. 

“This isn't air temple preschool,” he says, arms crossed over his chest. “It's the real world.”

Katara jumps back into the fray after him, a vicious game of two-on-one bickering.

_“You didn’t love her the way I did.”_

It echoes in his brain, pinging around his skull so fiercely that he doesn’t realize his sister’s stormed off until she’s already gone, leaving Zuko to stand awkwardly at Appa’s side.

“I’m, uh, gonna go…” he jerks his thumb in the direction Katara went, then scurries off behind her.

“What the hell was that?”

 _“Toph!”_ Sokka shrieks, jolting at the sudden voice.

Toph, the little gremlin, just cackles. “You sound like you’re having a heart attack, Snoozles.”

Sokka thinks, as Zuko slinks off into the shadows, that she isn’t too far off.

* * *

Zuko finds Sokka after dinner.

“Hey,” he says, putting a hand on Sokka’s shoulder. “Can we talk?”

Sokka nods and allows Zuko to lead him towards his tent. Neither of them says anything when they enter, simply sitting beside each other in a warped replica of the night before.

Finally, just when Sokka feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust, Zuko speaks.

“I’m sorry about what Katara said earlier.”

He sounds genuine, but the words ignite a shame-fueled anger in Sokka that he’s past the point of caring to repress.

“Oh, really?” he says sarcastically. “That must be why you stood up for me, then.”

Zuko winces.

“Seriously,” Sokka continues, “was last night just some fucking ploy to go work with Katara behind my back?”

“Sokka, it isn’t like that—“

“Then tell me I’m wrong,” he snaps. “Tell me this isn’t some grand plan to make her forgive you for all the fucking _bullshit_ you’ve pulled.”

The silence is an answer in its own rite.

“Get the fuck out of my tent.”

Zuko reaches his hand towards Sokka’s in some ridiculous aborted attempt to clean up the mess he created. Sokka snatches his arm away before he gets the chance.

_“Leave.”_

He pretends it doesn’t hurt when Zuko does just that.

* * *

Though they’ve been the subject of an embarrassing amount of ridicule, Sokka’s instincts have yet to fail him.

He was right about that smarmy asshole Jet. He was right about his dad being trapped at the Boiling Rock.

And now, as much as he wishes he wasn’t, he’s right about Zuko and Katara’s hare-brained plan to sneak off in the middle of the night.

“So you were just gonna take Appa anyway, huh?”

Katara’s surprised jolt shouldn’t be as satisfying as it is.

“Yes.” That’s Zuko’s voice, now, raspy and low and ridiculously attractive despite the fact he’s literally betraying Sokka for the millionth time.

“Don’t try to stop us,” Katara says, climbing onto Appa’s saddle.

And Zuko...Zuko has the _audacity_ to look guilty as he climbs on behind her.

Sokka wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. She was his mom, too, for fuck’s sake! But what could he do? If he tried to tag along—not that Katara would ever allow it—he’d probably just slow them down. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was a bender. It’s a familiar jealousy, and he’s all too happy to ensconce himself in it if only for a brief reprieve from the crushing sting of betrayal.

“Whatever,” he says. “Try not to die.”

All he gets is a muted “yip, yip” in reply.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

* * *

The remaining members of Team Avatar are, predictably, incredibly confused the next day.

“So you just let them go?” Aang asks over Suki’s sad attempt at breakfast.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Toph says. “Maybe _stopped_ them?”

Sokka snorts. “Do you think they would’ve listened?”

“Maybe not,” Aang says thoughtfully. “But hopefully they’ll learn that revenge isn’t the answer.”

“Alright, guru goody-goody,” Toph says, setting her bowl down and standing up with her arms crossed. “Since your other masters have decided to go on a field trip, it looks like you’re training with me today.”

She pounds her first into her palm, the motion sending a rock hurtling straight towards Aang. He deflects it with a burst of wind that just so happens to redirect it terrifyingly close to Sokka’s head.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Oops,” Aang says sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Toph, in a typical Toph fashion, doesn’t apologize.

“Come on, Twinkletoes,” she says instead, heading towards the clearing they’ve designated as a makeshift training ground. “Let’s go do some earthbending, Earth Rumble style.”

“Earth Rumble style?” Suki mouths with confusion as the two benders leave.

“It’s basically just earthbenders chucking rocks at each other,” Sokka explains.

“Huh,” Suki says. “Sounds cool.”

“Oh, it was _beyond_ cool.” He smiles fondly at the memory of The Boulder. Seriously, that guy _rocked._ (Ha, nice one, brain.)

“Wait,” Sokka says, looking back at the campfire. “Did they just leave us with all the dishes?”

* * *

Sokka is bored. So, unbelievably bored. Zuko isn’t here, meaning Sokka can’t partake in his favorite Zuko-related activities: pining, sparring, and pining again. He supposes he can now add kissing to the list as well. Oh, and did he mention pining?

“Are you still moping?”

Sokka looks up from where he’s sharpening his space sword (and one-hundred percent _not_ moping). “No.”

Suki rolls her eyes. “They’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka says. “It’s not like I care.”

Suki’s raised eyebrows are all the indication he needs to know that his lie is laughably transparent.

“Come on,” she says, hauling him to his feet. “I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“What?”

“We’re going shopping.”

“Oh, Suki,” he sighs, falling towards her with a swoon. “You know me so well.”

* * *

The nearest market is only a few miles away, and the weather is amicable enough that Sokka isn’t too disgustingly hot when they arrive. (He’d be less sweaty, of course, if _someone_ hadn’t stolen Appa.)

It’s a colony town, which means it has the added bonus of not being overrun by Fire Nation soldiers (or, even worse, creepy brainwashing earthbenders). It also means, unfortunately, that the vendor selection is fairly limited. There isn’t even a weapons store!

It’s fine, though; Sokka is an experienced shopper, and he’s nothing if not adaptable.

“Ooh,” he says, stopping in front of an accessory cart. “This looks like a bag I got on the way to Ba Sing Se!”

“Yeah?” Suki says, peering over his shoulder. “And where’s that bag now?”

Sokka feels his cheeks heat up. “At the bottom of the ocean,” he mumbles, looking away.

Suki smirks, and Sokka forces himself to walk away from what is objectively a super-functional (and gorgeously embroidered, though he’ll never admit it) bag. Or is the term _satchel_ more manly?

“Come on,” he says, pulling Suki away before she can tease him further. “I’m hungry.”

They continue to wander through the market that, for some reason, seems to only sell clothes and knick-knacks.

When they pass a lady holding a pouch of snacks, Sokka practically pounces on her.

“Where’d you get those?” he asks, not-so-subtly trying to peer into her grease-stained bag.

The woman points to a stand a few aisles over, and Sokka manages to fumble out a “thank you” before scurrying across the plaza.

“Mmm,” he says, inhaling deeply. “Food.”

Suki reaches his side moments later, peering over his shoulder at the menu. “What the hell are fire flakes?”

Sokka shrugs. “Beats me.”

Whatever fire flakes are, they’re the only item for sale, so Sokka buys two bags of them.

“How hot?” the vendor asks as he counts out the coins Sokka places on the counter.

“Uhh…” He glances back at the menu. “Medium?”

That sounds like a safe (and macho) choice, right?

* * *

It is not, as Sokka learns approximately two seconds later, a safe choice.

“Suki,” he moans through his dry throat, “I think I’m on fire.”

Suki’s entire face is red, and Sokka doubts he looks any better. His eyes are watery and, no matter how much cool air he sucks in, the flames scorching down his esophagus refuse to go out.

“This is,” Suki rasps, voice similarly scratchy, “all your fault.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wait,” Suki says, holding up a shaking finger. “Water.”

She points to a small faucet extending from the side of a building, stumbling desperately toward it with Sokka hot (Get it? _Hot?_ ) on her heels. 

The spigot is low enough to the ground that they have to kneel to reach it, but Sokka can’t bring himself to care as he guzzles down the water like the livestock the faucet is undoubtedly meant to hydrate.

“This is the best water I’ve ever tasted.” His words are garbled, but he can’t stop drinking to talk, because if he does he fears the fire sizzling through his entrails may flare up again.

Suki nods enthusiastically, the motion further soaking her clothes.

“I hate the Fire Nation,” she grumbles.

Sokka couldn’t agree more.

Funnily enough, it seems that the Fire Nation hates them, too (and not just with their poisonous spicy food): When Sokka finally extinguishes the burning in his mouth, he stands and finds himself face-to-face with Aang.

“Gah,” he yelps as he jumps back, only narrowly avoiding tripping over Suki.

Willing his wildly beating heart back under control, Sokka peers closer at the fairly accurate depiction on the Avatar’s wanted poster. Next to it is a poster calling for Zuko’s capture, and a third offering a reward for the Blue Spirit.

“Does that say ‘dead or alive’?” Suki asks.

Sokka gulps, his eyes unable to deviate from the damning words spelled out beneath ‘traitorous prince.’ He’d thought the warden had been exaggerating back on the Boiling Rock when he’d threatened Zuko; now, the memory of the warden’s knuckles staining with Zuko’s blood pales in comparison to the knowledge that the Fire Lord _himself_ wants his son dead _._

“What the fuck?” he whispers. “What the fuck?”

Suki places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “This is why we’re taking him down, right?”

Sokka nods on instinct, his mind far too preoccupied with thoughts of _treason_ and _death_ and _scars._

“They got…” Sokka swallows and tries again. “Suki, they got his scar on the wrong side.”

Suki frowns but doesn’t say anything, because Sokka’s right: the warped, deadened skin mars this rendition of Zuko’s right cheek, stark and official as though it matters not which side of his face had been stripped of its flesh (and, he suspects, its vision and hearing as well).

“Hey,” Suki says, squeezing his arm lightly. “Why don’t we get going?”

“Okay.” That single word is all Sokka can get out, his tongue now numb in a way that even water can’t cure.

He rips down all the posters as he leaves and wishes he had the power to burn them all to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever tire of writing sokka eating fire flakes? no, no i will not.
> 
> also, new works have been added to this series, please check them out if you have time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka doesn’t know how late it is when the massive, bison-shaped shadow passes in front of Yue, but his butt is numb and the temperature has dropped enough that he’s shivering (not that he was aware enough to realize it).
> 
> or: a reunion & a confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 cut off weird so if the first part of this looks familiar...no it doesn’t

The posters, unfortunately, do not spontaneously combust in Sokka’s fist, despite his most valiant efforts. He keeps them clenched tightly during the silent trek back to the campsite, and continues to squeeze them with all his might as he paces when they return.

He’s angry, and hurt, and miserable, and a whole host of other emotions that threaten to tear up his insides.

He’s mad at Fire Lord Asshole for calling for Zuko’s head. He’s pissed at the Fire Nation for taking his mother’s life and denying him the opportunity for revenge. And, most importantly, he’s fucking livid at the fact that Zuko and Katara still aren’t back.

Toph asks why he’s so depressed over dinner; well, more accurately, she asks if his bad mood is the reason why the rice is even shittier than usual.

“I’m fine,” he says, staring at the campfire as he eats mechanically.

She gives him her favorite line in response: “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

“Yeah,” Sokka grumbles. “I know.”

“Is it because Sparky isn’t here?” she asks, a knowing grin spreading across her features. “What is he, your boyfr—“

“Toph,” Suki interjects. “I don’t think Sokka wants to talk about it.”

Sokka has never been more grateful for Suki’s presence in his entire life, especially when she somehow manages to get Toph, the most stubborn twelve-year-old on the planet, to actually stop teasing him about things he really doesn’t feel like sharing.

(It probably has something to do with the fact that she launches into the story of their misadventure with fire flakes, which Toph thinks is even better joke fodder.)

After her fifth wisecrack about their “delicate taste-buds,” Sokka announces that he’s going for a walk.

“I just need to clear my head,” he explains. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Aang asks.

“I’m fine,” he snaps.

The frown on Aang’s baby face has him scrambling to apologize. “Sorry,” he says, sighing. “It’s just been a long day.”

“I understand.” The tinge of pity in Aang’s eyes stokes Sokka’s anger again, and he stands with a huff before he can say something else he regrets.

Sokka’s meander takes him along the nearby stream. It’s far away enough that he can no longer see the others, and the bubbling of the water skimming over the stones below is (hopefully) loud enough to drown his presence out from Toph’s all-seeing feet.

He kicks at the dirt along the shore as he walks, sending flurries of dried silt and pebbles into the water as though it will somehow quell the turmoil of emotions inside of him. It hasn’t even been a full day, but Zuko and Katara’s absence still fills him with a miserable blend of anxiety and fury. (He doesn’t know which is worse.)

He pulls the Tui-forsaken wanted posters back out from where he’d crumpled them in his pocket before dinner. The depictions are smudged, and the distortion of their faces is unsettling.

With a grunt of rage, he rips up the images of Aang and the Blue Spirit and tosses them into the water. He watches as they float away, mere strips of disintegrating parchment drowning in the power of the stream.

He wants to throw away Zuko’s poster, too, but can’t bring himself to. It’s stupid, and he knows it; it’s a form of torture, really, staring at the twisted image of his maybe-boyfriend. The wrinkles and blotched ink make his scar appear to stretch across his entire face, and it makes Sokka’s stomach churn.

(Is it morbid of him to be satisfied that at least now it’s also on the correct side?)

He stares at it as he begins to trudge forward again, the approaching darkness forcing him to squint until his eyes cross. He barely notices the change in terrain when he steps onto a dock, his body on autopilot and uncaring of the creaky wood.

He only jolts back into awareness when his foot crashes through the disintegrating boards, sending him toppling over as he slips on the wet rocks below. He curses as his ankle twists, and only manages to avoid breaking his leg by spinning himself parallel to the planks around him. He crashes onto his side with a grunt, praying that the rest of the dock doesn’t collapse and dump the rest of him into the water.

Miraculously, the ratty wood holds, and he’s able to pull himself back up from the crack. His ankle throbs with pain, and he nearly collapses when he tries to put his weight on it.

“Fuck,” he hisses, limping a few paces forward before the injury forces him to sit down.

He knows Katara could easily heal it, but, as his still-aching heart reminds him, she still isn’t back from her “life-changing field trip.” He misses her, not just for her healing abilities but for her presence in general. She’s his little sister, and he’s supposed to take care of her; instead, he let her go on a quest for revenge with the objectively least emotionally stable member of the group.

He’s an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot with a crush on an even stupider boy who’s taken practically the only family he has left on a joyride for revenge.

Tui and La, how can he ever call himself a strategist after this?

Whatever, he thinks, glowering back down at the poster in his hand. It’s even more warped, now, and Sokka knows he should tear it to shreds because the asshole used him, he used him for information to go behind his back and stab it in the process.

For some reason, he still can’t force himself to throw it away.

* * *

He doesn’t know how late it is when the massive, bison-shaped shadow passes in front of Yue, but his butt is numb and the temperature has dropped enough that he’s shivering (not that he was aware enough to realize it until now).

The moonlight illuminates Appa as he descends past Sokka’s limited field of vision, and despite his frustration, he still feels reassured by the fact that they made it back in one piece.

He’s petty, though, enough so that he doesn’t return to the campsite to greet them. If they want to talk to him—not that they did before embarking on their harebrained quest—they can find him themselves.

* * *

They do find him, some indeterminate amount of time later, though it’s wholly on accident. They don’t even notice his presence in the dark, but he can hear voices traveling down from the hill behind him. When he turns around, he can just barely make out the outline of three people. One of them appears to be seated, while the others stand to the side.

“Katara?” the shorter of the two standing figures asks. “Are you okay?”

He recognizes it as Aang’s voice, meaning that his sister is the one on the ground.

Meaning that the other, slightly taller silhouette belongs to Zuko.

“I’m doing fine,” he hears Katara say.

“Zuko told me what you did,” Aang says, and for a moment, Sokka is filled with the panicked thought that _holy shit, Katara_ _killed someone._

“Or what you didn't do, I guess,” he continues. “I'm proud of you.”

Sokka, for the life of him, can’t decide if he’s relieved or upset.

“I wanted to do it,” Katara says. “I wanted to take out all my anger at him, but I couldn't. I don't know if it's because I'm too weak to do it or because I'm strong enough not to.”

Would Sokka have done it, if he’d been in her shoes? Would he have dealt the killing blow to the bastard who tore his family apart?

“You did the right thing,” Aang replies. “Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing.”

Katara pushes herself up to stand, arms moving as though brushing the dirt off her pants. “But I didn't forgive him. I'll never forgive him.”

She turns to Zuko, stepping closer to him. “But I _am_ ready to forgive you.”

Sokka’s heart fills with warmth as she pulls Zuko in for a hug. This is what he wanted, isn’t it? For his sister to forgive their former enemy?

(Why, then, in spite of the mushy relief, does he still feel so upset?)

He watches as Katara releases him and walks away, leaving Zuko and Aang alone.

“You were right about what Katara needed,” Zuko says after a moment. “Violence wasn't the answer.”

“It never is.”

“Then I have a question for you: what are you gonna do when you face my father?”

He’s right. He’s right, and it leaves a sinking feeling in Sokka’s gut because he’s known from the second Aang came out of that iceberg that he couldn’t harm even the vilest of living creatures (except he does, every time he airbends someone off a building or merges with a spirit to take down an entire armada of enemy ships—he just won’t admit it).

He’s also known, since the day he first learned of the Fire Nation’s cruelty, that the only way to truly end this war is with the Fire Lord’s head.

“I’ll figure something out,” Aang says. “Maybe I can talk to him.”

 _“Talk to him?_ What, just have a nice chat over a cup of tea?”

“Do you think that would work?”

Sokka face-palms.

“Do I think it would—for fuck’s sake, of course not!” Zuko snaps.

“Monk Gyatso always said that peace is always the best option.”

“Yeah? Well, I hate to break it to you, but Gyatso and all the other airbenders are _dead.”_

Sokka winces, and forces himself to stand; even if Zuko has a point, Aang doesn’t deserve that. (He still remembers his scream of anguish at the sight of Gyatso’s bones, the terror as he went into the Avatar state.)

“And if we don’t stop this war, my father will wipe out the Earth Kingdom, too.”

Aang begins to back away, slowly at first, then all-out sprinting. Sokka hobbles up the hill even faster, busted ankle be damned.

“Come back!” Zuko shouts at Aang’s retreating figure.

He screams in frustration when it’s clear Aang isn’t returning, falling to his knees and punching out twin bursts of fire.

“Why the fuck would you say that to him?” Sokka wheezes as he nears the top of the hill.

Zuko doesn’t acknowledge him, simply staring at the slowly dwindling flames in his hands.

“Hey, asshole!” he shouts, now almost at Zuko’s side. “I’m talking to you!”

Still no response.

“What the hell is your problem, man?”

He moves to shake Zuko’s shoulder, because the bastard _still_ won’t so much as glance at him.

But the second his fingers make contact, Zuko leaps to his feet and into a bending stance, summoning two fire daggers. He’s glaring—an expression which immediately morphs into shock when his flames illuminate Sokka—but the look in his eyes is almost...afraid.

“Sokka?” he asks, frowning as he extinguishes his fists.

“The one and only,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks for ignoring me, by the way. Great for a guy’s self-esteem.”

“You’re the one who snuck up on me!”

“I did _not!_ I called your name like fifty times, but you…” he trails off, suddenly realizing just which side of Zuko he’d approached. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Zuko scowls, clearly tracking the way Sokka’s gaze moves to the left side of his face, then slides to the edge of the mangled ear peeking out from beneath his hair. _“Oh.”_

“So you’re…”

“Deaf?” Zuko finishes for him. “Clearly.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Sokka says, throwing his arms up in frustration.

He doesn’t miss the way Zuko flinches.

“That tends to happen when half your face melts off,” he says bitterly.

Sokka gulps at his words, unable to look away from the mottled skin, the eye slitted in a permanent glare.

“Can you see?” Sokka asks before he can stop himself. “Out of that eye, I mean.”

“Not really,” Zuko admits. “Some shapes, but that’s it. Why do you care, anyways?”

“Because I care about you. You’re my…”

Zuko narrows his eyes. “Your what?”

“I don’t know. Friend? Boyfriend? You tell me.”

Zuko takes a small step back. “Sokka, I don’t—“

“What?” Sokka interrupts. “You don’t know? Was this just some scheme to get my sister on your side?”

“Of course not!”

“Then tell me,” Sokka snaps. “What are we?”

Zuko flounders for an explanation, but Sokka has never been one for patience, least of all for tact. “At least tell me the truth. Do you even like me?”

“I—“ The muscles in Zuko’s throat tense. “Spirits, Sokka, obviously I do.”

“Yeah?” Sokka mutters. “Because you don’t fucking act like it.”

Zuko seems to fidget under his gaze, not meeting his eyes. “This isn’t easy for me, you know.”

“No, Zuko, I _don’t_ know.” He can’t keep the anger, the all-consuming _hurt,_ from bleeding into his voice. “Because you refuse to tell me anything!”

Zuko laughs, the sound caustic and just on the wrong side of wheezing. “What do you think my _father_ would do,” he says with a twisted sense of amusement, “if he found out his son preferred the company of _men_?”

Suki’s words come back to him in a sickening rush: _“Homosexuality has been illegal in the Fire Nation since before Sozin’s time.”_

“I don’t know,” Sokka says, a disconnected echo of his previous rage.

Zuko grins, the curl of his lips sadistic and full of harsh loathing (whether at his father or himself, Sokka doesn’t know). “He’d do far worse than give me another scar.”

More chuckles bubble out of him, sharp and pained and stabbing into every fiber of Sokka’s being.

“So it was him.” He’s barely conscious that he’s speaking, his mouth moving on autopilot as his body scrambles to simply remember how to breathe. “Your...” he gestures to the left side of his face.

“Obviously,” Zuko scoffs.

“Tell me,” Sokka says before he can stop himself. “Tell me what happened.”

Zuko eyes him warily. “Why? So you can throw it back in my face?”

“Fuck, Zuko—when will you get it through your head that I don’t want to hurt you?”

Zuko recoils at this, hunching further in on himself. “Why wouldn’t you? I chased you all around the world. I used you for information about your mother. I- I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t. And you’re with us now; that’s all that matters.”

Zuko purses his lips, as though trying to parse out any sort of deception; Sokka, not for the first time, wonders just who taught Zuko not to trust.

“I was thirteen,” Zuko says, so quietly that Sokka’s half sure he imagined it.

“My father…” he swallows, closing his eyes before tilting his head up to stare at the stars. “I just wanted to impress him. But I- I was a fool.”

Sokka knows the desire to impress one’s parents all too well; he knows the drive to prove his worth, even if ( _especially because)_ he isn’t a bender. He knows frostbitten toes from desperate hunts in the middle of blizzards, scarred fingers from shaky attempts to thread fish hooks. He knows the certainty with which he’d do anything, _anything,_ for just a hint of his father’s pride.

(He also knows, with a sinking feeling, that bandages and lectures that end in teary hugs because _“Tui and La, Sokka, you scared me,”_ are not what Zuko received for even his best efforts at approval.)

“There was this war meeting, and _Agni,_ I wasn’t even supposed to _be_ there! And then this general said—and I questioned him and—and Uncle _told me_ not to speak, but I did anyways!”

The words are rushed and stilted, his tongue tripping over itself and spinning a story just short of incoherent.

“I was challenged to an Agni Kai,” he says, glancing wildly at Sokka and adding at his undoubtedly confused expression, “a firebending duel.”

Sokka tries to offer an encouraging nod, but the nauseating loop of _“my father”_ and _“Agni Kai”_ and _“thirteen”_ in his brain leaves the motion awkward at best.

“I thought I was fighting the general,” Zuko says, breath hitching. “I should have known better.”

He clenches his jaw and exhales a cloud of smoke. “I didn’t fight him. He told me to, but I- I just _couldn’t._ I was weak, and I begged him, and there were so many _people_ , and Uncle says it wasn’t my fault but I _know_ it was, I _know it._ ”

Zuko’s body begins to sway slightly as though he’s no longer in control of it; as though the gentlest breeze, the quietest word, will send him toppling over.

“He burned me, and then- then he sent me away.”

It’s barely a whisper, the slightest hint of an admission that shouldn’t have needed to be uttered in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko says. “He told me I could come home if I found the Avatar, and it was—I wasn’t supposed to, and I’m- I’m so _fucking sorry_ for making your lives miserable and—“

He cuts off with a small gasp as Sokka wraps his arms around him, crushing him with an impulsive guilt and protectiveness so strong that he fears his muscles may tear. Zuko’s body is frozen, limbs stiff and unsteady. He trembles when Sokka releases him, hands shakily running over his shirt as though to convince himself he hasn't disappeared.

And Sokka...Sokka falls to his knees, looks up to Yue, and screams.

He screams for the injustice of it all, for the neverending war and everything it’s taken from them. He shouts until his throat his hoarse, sobbing for the _child_ sent on a fool’s errand and conditioned to think that the fault of his father’s cruelty was his own.

“Sokka.” There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, a familiar rasp behind him. (A boy who pleaded for mercy and was met with fire.)

“Sorry,” he says, sniffling and wiping at the wetness on his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Why? _I’m_ the one that should be sorry.”

Sokka frowns, turning around and using Zuko’s sleeve to tug himself up to face him. The chill of damp, muddy earth clings to his shins, grass and dirt and other particulates no doubt staining the fabric of his pants. But Sokka doesn’t care, Katara’s future wrath be damned.

All he can see is Zuko.

“It’s not your fault.”

Zuko moves to look away, but Sokka brings a hand up ever-so-gently to cup the right side of his face. His eyes go wide, but he doesn’t pull back.

Now, inches from Zuko’s face, Sokka can make out the faint outline of a handprint over his slitted ( _unseeing_ ) eye. The way the scar is darkest in the center, spreading out across his cheek and beyond his hairline in an array of five eerily identical tendrils.

“I know it’s horrible,” Zuko says, his gaze tracking between Sokka’s wrist and his eyes.

Sokka doesn’t answer; instead, at a pace slow enough to telegraph each movement, he presses his lips to the edge of Zuko’s scar. The breath on his cheek is hot and uneven, but when Zuko doesn’t push him away, Sokka begins to kiss the outline of the burn. It’s rough, uneven and stiff in a way that no skin should ever be. He wonders how long Ozai had to hold his son, his own fucking _son,_ in place to leave a mark so deep.

(He wonders if Zuko thought, just for a moment, that the hand on his cheek was just a tender caress.)

Smooth hair tickles the edge of Sokka’s nose as he continues to trace his lips across the ridge of what was once Zuko’s brow, down the corner of his damaged cheekbone and around the warped wreckage of his ear.

He stops only after he presses a final kiss to Zuko’s lips, leaving his hand on Zuko’s unblemished right cheek as he pulls back.

“It’s not disgusting,” he says. “It’s actually pretty badass.”

Zuko snorts, then winces at the noise; Sokka can feel the already-warm skin beneath his palm heating further as he blushes. He doesn’t want to move—in fact, he’d be perfectly content to stand here forever, pressed close to Zuko and soaking in his “internal flame”—but his eldest-member-of-Team-Avatar instincts are telling him that a certain airbender needs a bit of a pep talk. (That, and he doesn’t want Toph—or, La forbid, his sister—getting any ideas.)

“Come on,” he says, lowering his hand from and intertwining it with Zuko’s. “We should get back to the others.”

“Okay.” Zuko allows Sokka to tug him back in the direction of the campsite, making it all of two steps before Sokka’s ankle buckles beneath him.

“Fuck!” he curses, shifting his weight to his non-busted leg and leaning into Zuko’s side for balance.

“What happened?” Zuko asks, lighting a small flame in his free hand and holding it near Sokka’s ankle.

It’s swollen, now, red and angry-looking in a way that leaves Sokka’s measly dinner threatening to reappear.

“So, funny story,” Sokka says, praying that Zuko’s too preoccupied by his injury to notice the flush creeping across his face. “I _may_ have fallen through the boardwalk.”

“You _what?”_

“It was old!” Sokka says. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Agni help me,” Zuko mutters, closing his fist to extinguish it. “Get on.”

“What?”

Zuko groans, bending his knees slightly and leaning forward, his back to Sokka. “Get on.”

Sokka’s face splits into a grin as he clambers onto Zuko’s back, feeling more than hearing Zuko’s grunt of exertion as he hoists him up and begins to walk.

“You know,” Sokka says, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined riding you for the first time.”

Zuko makes a choking sound and stumbles.

“Careful,” Sokka teases. “If you trip, then Katara’s gonna have to come get us.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Sokka says, tightening his arms around Zuko’s neck and burrowing into the heat of his skin.

“No,” Zuko sighs, his body somehow flushing even warmer as he shifts Sokka’s knees to rest above his hips, “I don’t.”

“I knew it,” Sokka says, grinning and pressing a kiss into Zuko’s hair. “Now, mush, polar bear-dog, mush!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn’t planning to have this be a zuko’s scar fic but here we are no shame
> 
> (also im planning a new work in this series that i’m really excited about get hype!!)

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!!


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